Monday, November 28, 2016

To Those Who Want to Learn More


Dear Friends,

Many of my majority culture friends (and yes, I share majority culture privilege in some ways, too, but I also have some minority experiences) are asking, in the aftermath of the election, “How do I help?” I hear your hearts. I see your earnestness. And I believe you can help, can be a force for change. I believe you can do it.

But you might not like the answer as to how.

The election has revealed what’s been there all along: we have a race problem. I’ll say it again: We. Have. A. Race. Problem.

If that sentence makes you uncomfortable, good. This is not an easy topic. If that sentence makes you mad, use it. Ask Jesus--Immanuel--God With Us--to cleanse that anger of sin, and then use it for change. For the changing of your heart foremost. 

And if that sentence makes you say, “No, we don’t have a race problem!” then this post is not for you. This post is for brothers and sisters who are willing to speak this fundamental truth—that our country was founded on the sin of oppressing the vulnerable, and that those practices continue today. At every level, from individual to structural, vulnerable people are oppressed, marginalized, and hurt. If you disagree with that statement, then let us disagree graciously with one another and remain friends. 

But if you are starting to see the vulnerable around you, if you are becoming aware of the oppressed, the marginalized, the hurt and the invisible in our society, if you are becoming aware of your majority culture privilege, welcome. God is at work in you. Because he’s seen those folks--those human beings--all along. And now you that you see the brokenness, there’s no way back to blissful ignorance. There’s no way provided in the gospel for ignoring the hard truths and going backwards.

But does it seem impossible to move forward? Does it seem that as soon as you realize that we have a race problem, then you realize you’re part of that problem, and then when you try to solve that problem, you can't? That’s frustrating. That's disheartening. That's exhausting. And it's especially hard when it is the very people you'd like to serve that are telling you "no."

Would you like to know why you’re being told no? 
Yes, you'd like to know? 
Are you sure?

"No" is so often the answer for several reasons. Some of them are good reasons, some of them are bad, and some just are. But there are real reasons behind why your well-meaning efforts may not be helpful, may be met with resistance, and may drive wedges further.

Because the "yes" that God is asking of you now might be the worst kind of (in)action imaginable in our dominant culture: listening and lamenting.

I'll say it again. Listening and lamenting. 

“No,” you say, “You don’t get it. I want to DO something. Take action. Take a stand. Stop injustice in its tracks.” I say, "Wonderful! Good for you, but YOU don’t get it." I mean this literally. You do not get "it," that "it" being the depth and the complexity of the problem. If you aren’t willing to listen and lament, you truly cannot understand the minority experience and what needs to change. 

Yes, there is a time for action. Yes, that time is now. But no, brown folk don’t need a “white savior.” No, women don’t need a man to explain how we can work together to fix the problem. No, oppressed minority groups do not need the majority to lead them to victory as though the only way to win is through majority culture leadership. You, dear friend, you who are so passionately asking, “How do I help?” by your truly humble question, prove that you want to learn. You also prove that you shouldn’t be arguing with people when they answer you. Because you don't know. When you are told to listen and lament, then, do it. Do. It.

I told you the answer might not be something you wanted to hear. And yes, there are actions to be done, stands to be made, and truth to be shared. But until you can understand the helplessness that a minority of any kind feels, day in and day out, you won’t know how to help. Until you can listen and lament, your actions will be unhelpful, your stands will be awkward, and your truth will be biased.

Actually, even after you listen, you’re still going to mess it up sometimes. That’s the message of the gospel—that we’re all broken people who need a savior to restore and reconcile us to himself and one another. But the odds are much better for your actions to succeed if you educate yourself first. The chances will be much better that your stand will make a difference, and that your truth will be heard and taken to heart by others.

Still mad? Good. Still uncomfortable? Excellent. Still frustrated? Fantastic. Now sit with that. Sit in it. Ask God about it. Cry out to him about it, like the Psalmist did. Not just because it’s good for you (though it certainly is), but also because in this work of listening and lamenting, you are joining the work that is already being done by brothers and sisters around the country. You are joining the cries of kidnapped men, women, and children that were in horrific conditions during the Middle Passage and in chattel slavery. You are weeping along with immigrants who have paid life savings and risked drowning, starvation, suffocation, and being shamed, all to leave behind everything familiar. When you scream aloud with women who have been sexually harassed, abused, objectified and debased, you are joining the Holy Spirit and even the entire earth in groaning and pleading for the coming justice of the King. When you are willing to not just stand with others, but actually helplessly lie down in the street with those who are most vulnerable, then you are emulating Jesus and the sacrifices he made to dwell among us. Then you will receive greater understanding.

Because if you don’t understand at all the misery, vulnerability, and plight of human beings that I just described above, if you think it’s really not that bad, that the stories are inaccurate and biased, and if you feel the need to say “yeah, but—” then you are not ready for action. And nobody wants to hear that. I know, I don't want to hear that. I don't want to sit and wait on the Lord. But we all have to do it at one time or another, so why not now? Enter into this Advent season willing to listen and lament. Willing to wait on Jesus to arrive in unexpected and unheralded ways. 

You may need to have some concrete steps to learning how to listen and lament, and I get it. I'm that way, too. So read Prophetic Lament by Soong-Chan Rah. Heck, just read the book of Lamentations in the Bible. Read The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander. Read this brother's blog post (with an open mind) on Ferguson: Why "Hands Up, Don't Shoot" Still Matters. Visit the National African-American Museum at the Smithsonian, or the Civil Rights museums in cities like Memphis, Birmingham, Atlanta. Watch Do The Right Thing, 12 Years a Slave, or A Time to Kill. And if you want to know more about the immigrant experience, the LGBT experience, women's experience, or any of a number of minority experiences, stories aren't hard to find. As my good friend Jemar would say, "Google it. Google. It." People are willing to share, but let them do so on their own terms. 

We are all created in the image of God, and what a painful, wonderful blessing it is to listen to each others' stories, lament with one another, and wait on the Lord. 

Moving into God's presence,
A Fellow Image-Bearer


Tuesday, November 08, 2016

To My Fellow Americans (Part 3)

Dear Fellow Citizens,

Well, here I am once again, with delusions of presidential grandeur. I figure if some of the current candidates can fancy themselves worthy of the presidency, why can't I? Ah ha ha ha ha! *whimper*

If you know me at all, you're pretty aware that I'm no fan of Trump, nor am I a big Hillary fan. (I miss Bernie. Hell, I miss McCain as the Republican nominee, at this point.) But the reasons I did or didn't vote for him or her might not be what you'd think:

I didn't vote for him or her because of his or her personality.

Please appreciate my syntax here. That can be read both ways. It could be "the reason for my negative vote is the horribleness of said candidate." And there's something to that, especially with rhetoric that I believe defies ideals that the United States (at its best) stands for: acceptance, community, respect, and inclusion.

But syntactically, it could also be "I voted for him or her, but not because of his or her personality." Because at the end of the day, personality is only part of what does (or doesn't) qualify a candidate for office. Do I want a bombastic, hateful, unrepentant person in the White House? No. Do I think we've had those before? Actually, yes. But I think they could do their jobs because they knew how to lead, and how to inspire, and how to negotiate. Please note that all these descriptors, depending on how one defines them (good and bad), could apply equally well to either of the two main candidates, and probably to Gary Johnson, as well. (I only know this because I'm from New Mexico, and I fondly/embarrassedly remember him as governor.).

Lots of previous presidents have had terrible personalities. And discussions of social media, globalization, and a digital age aside, we were more shielded from those personalities. Those personalities sometimes got in the way, and sometimes didn't. But we're not voting for a pastor, people. We're not proposing to a future spouse. At the end of the day, it would be nice if our president were honest, gracious, and well-spoken. But some of our best past-presidents have been adulterers, thieves, liars, and awkward as hell. Yet they could still do their damn job. So that's who I voted for. I voted for the person I thought could best do the job, based on experience, credibility, reliability, etc. Not being an asshat is part of the job, but honestly, I'm willing to go with someone who can fumble through it and fake it a little. Is that cynical and defeatist? Maybe. Is that wasteful and hypocritical? Possibly. Is that enough reason to not vote? For me, no. If you didn't vote because you despise both major party candidates, I hear you. And I'm not judging you really, just looking at you a little sadly. Which really is far worse, right? Ha ha ha sorry.

So I did vote for him or her because of his or her abilities, or at least what I think they are. And I voted. Because I'm a citizen of heaven who trusts in the Kingship of Christ but has been sent into temporary exile in this world to love God and humans who are created in his image. My ultimate, heavenly citizenship doesn't mean I blow off caring about this world, it means I try to do it as Christ did. I want to engage people well. I want to remember to keep my eyes on heaven, part of which means seeing the people and needs around me. I want to engage people with passionate kindness and kind passion. (Ooh! That's a good one. Lawyer friends, please help me trademark that phrase.)

So who did I vote for? Not Jesus Christ (ugh), because he doesn't need my vote and he's in charge of everything, anyway. I voted for [SENTENCE REDACTED FOR PRIVACY AND NATIONAL SECURITY ISSUES]. We'll see how it goes.

Hopefully, Respectfully, and Patriotically Yours,
Chandra Crane, write-in candidate, Opinionist Party



Saturday, October 08, 2016

Same-day Shipping Saturday (or, Free Shipping Fridays, a day late): InterVarsity Controversy

You may have heard of the controversy over InterVarsity policy and "Redeemed Sexuality" theology. As I have also been reminded, you may not have. Because the world doesn't revolve around me and my spheres of influence. I need this reminder. Often.

Either way, I hope these links will be helpful if you'd like to hear more. And either way, if you're a praying sort of person, please pray. Pray for the organization for which I still work. Pray for the LGBTQIA brothers and sisters who had to go, and the ones who've been able to stay. Pray for Jesus to make all things right and new, because we need him desperately.


What started the media storm--Time magazine's piece, which shows definite bias, but is still helpful:

http://time.com/4521944/intervarsity-fellowship-gay-marriage/


Christianity Today's response, which is (I think) somewhat biased in the other direction:

http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2016/october-web-only/intervarsity-asks-staff-to-choose-stance-on-sexuality.html?start=1


InterVarsity's official statement on their Facebook page, which was not well-received, and which I am still mulling over:

https://www.facebook.com/intervarsity.usa/posts/1295468503820529


This post broke my heart, opened my eyes, and gave me a little bit of hope. It is gracious, balanced, and raw:

http://rootedinvictory.blogspot.com/2016/10/i-am-tension.html


Satire is only funny because it parodies something. This satirical article is eye-opening and disheartening. It's how so many folks perceive this move by IV. I don't know what to do about that, except to weep, pray, and try to understand:

http://religionnews.com/2016/10/07/after-purge-campus-ministry-to-change-its-name/


This post shows something of a third view, but is quite long and a bit hard to follow in parts. I skimmed it:

https://natesparks130.com/2016/10/04/an-egalitarian-sacrifice/


Finally, I thought this article was extremely helpful. It addresses legal issues, laments the situation, and endorses neither "side" whole-heartedly:

http://skyejethani.com/3-reasons-intervarsitys-decision-on-gay-marriage-is-a-big-deal/


If you only have time for two links, I'd suggest making them the 4th and the 7th ones.  Thank you for reading, friends.





Friday, August 26, 2016

Free Shipping Fridays: A Bouquet of Encouragement

Dear Readers,

I'm shelling out the big bucks this week, because having flowers delivered to your door ain't cheap. But here, for your reading enjoyment, is a mixed bouquet of all the random encouraging websites I've come across over the past couple of weeks. Many of them have been languishing as an open window in my internet browser, so I apologize if they're a bit wilted. Hopefully, they will still brighten your day.


If I had to answer some cheesy ice-breaker question if my friend Maggie "were a flower, which flower would she be?" I'd have to say a Southwestern cactus flower. Hot pink, super pretty, but with enough spines to take care of business:

http://bowling-maggie.blogspot.com/2016/08/a-blessing-for-my-teenage-daughters.html?m=1


My friend Pam would definitely be one of the first daffodils coming up at the beginning of a Canadian spring (so, you know, in June). Sweet smelling, dainty looking, but not even weak because she's thriving amidst all that snow:

http://www.sundaywomen.com/2016/05/what-i-have-learned-serving-church.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed:+SundayWomen+(Sunday+Women)&m=1


I'm running out of clever (read: silly) flower analogies here. I just love this story about some CFA folks understanding the true meaning of the Sabbath, and loving the way Jesus loved. Ummm, so roses maybe? Rainbow colored ones? (SOMEONE PLEASE STOP ME I'M OUT OF CONTROL)

http://www.usatoday.com/story/money/2016/06/14/chick-fil-a-opens-on-sunday-to-feed-orlando-blood-donors/85868494/


Okay, Imma bring things back from over-pollinated syrupy-sweet land with this article. But if I had to  pick a flower to represent Ruth Haley Barton, one of my favorite authors, I'd have to say an iris. Mostly because they are one of my favorite flowers, but also because they're deep and classy (WHY WON'T SOMEONE STOP ME ALREADY):

http://www.transformingcenter.org/2016/07/prayer-lament-breathe/


And here's an actual bouquet, of one of my favorite flowers ever (delphinium) because why not:

http://flowersbygracelewicki.com/viewitem.php?productid=281








Monday, August 08, 2016

To a Sweet Baby Girl

















Dear Sadie Margaret,

I'm angry right now. Not at you, little one. At life, and circumstances, and death, and--if I'm honest--at God. Because this isn't supposed to be how it turns out. You're supposed to go home to your brothers and sister. You're supposed to keep growing big and strong, and we're supposed to get to keep you in the church nursery, and take vows along with the entire church family at your baptism. To say that we will help your family as they guide, love, and even discipline you a little. We're supposed to get to watch you grow into toddlerhood, commiserate with your Mama and Daddy at how fast time is flying by. There are supposed to be funny stories to be heard over dinner and proud moments to celebrate together, like with your siblings and our kiddos.

But there aren't, and maybe there won't be, and I'm just angry. I know that if you leave us, you'll be going where there's no more pain. I know you'll get to, as your Mama said, "look at Jesus face-to-face with those big, brown eyes." I know you'll look up at our heavenly father, and say, "Daddy, I want a pony." And he'll say, "Here, sweetheart. Have five ponies."

And I know that it's better to be with Jesus, and that I'm terribly selfish to want you to stay, and that the Holy Spirit is convicting me even now. But I am just so angry, and sad, and helpless. And I think that God agrees that death and pain are something to be angry about. And I think that someday that all of us who love you will get to a point where we aren't so angry at God anymore, but I'm sure not there right now.

I'm angry for your family. I'm angry for the thousands of people around the world who have been praying for you and cheering you on. I'm angry for all the little girls and boys who have been praying their sweet, earnest prayers: "Dear God, please help Sadie Margaret get better. Please heal her."

And I'm trying to focus on that ultimate healing that all God's children are ultimately headed toward. I'm trying to rejoice that maybe you'll never really know sin or depression or even anger. That what fear and pain your little body and soul have gone through will be replaced with a peace and joy and life that I can't even really imagine.

But did I mention that I'm so angry?

Perhaps focusing on being grateful for you will help. And I am so very grateful. How many saints have been driven to their knees in prayer over these past months? How many of us have been strengthened by seeing God's incredible sustaining of your family? How many people, that we may never even know in this life, has the Holy Spirit spoken to while they watch your Mama and Daddy celebrate what a little fighter you are?

Your Daddy shared a sweet thought: that even if you leave us soon--someday, how long the line will be in heaven to see you. So many of us, even as we joyously greet our own lost children and other loved ones, will run to see you and join you in basking in the light of the glory of our God on his throne! And we'll say, "Sadie Margaret--you're healed!" And you'll say, "Of course, dear one. Welcome home."

Striving to choose gratitude,
a Loving Aunty

Monday, August 01, 2016

To Those Who Want to Do More


Dear Friends,

I've been asked to compile a series of tweets I recently did about how a majority culture person can, once they've started to feel some of the pain of minority folks' stories, move past inevitable shame into making a difference. Because my heart breaks for my friends who have started to see their own racism and now feel so helpless, like their majority status keeps them continually complicit in injustices, and that they can't help but be oppressors. I do not believe that is so. Quite the opposite. I believe that majority culture folks can be powerful advocates for the Other, leveraging their privilege for the good of others, to the glory of God and the growth of the Kingdom.

When Jesus says, "to whom much is given, of him much will be required," he didn't mean that privileged people will be required to feel much shame and paralyzing guilt. That's not the gospel. The gospel is repenting of sins--personal, corporate, cultural--and then acting on those convictions, following the Holy Spirit in the work he is doing in people's lives and the systems of the world. Shame just wraps us up in ourselves and satan's schemes.

So let me first off all say, thank you, King Jesus. None of us, without common grace, without the touch of the Holy Spirit on sinful minds, realize any of our sins and wrong attitudes, much less do anything to change them. This is Jesus' work. That truth is simultaneously a huge challenge, because God is so very perfect and holy, and also a huge relief. Because dredging change up in ourselves is not what the Holy Spirit is about. He's about showing himself mighty in the feeble work of his children.

Second, let me make it clear that I, too, am racist. I have blogged about this before. I was raised by a black man, but I still find myself shying away from unfamiliar black men in most circumstances. I am working on this. The Holy Spirit is working on this in me. I am seeking to have the lies of the media/culture be replaced by the truths of God. I am repenting and actively trying to change the way I look at others. I am not writing this post (nor was I writing those tweets) to people who aren't interested in racial reconciliation. This isn't supposed to be a post guilting you into confessing racism and changing everything. It's supposed to be a post to encourage already like-minded folks who desire racial reconciliation but don't know where to start. So if those tweets or this post grieve you, I apologize, and hope you can bear with me.

Thirdly, there is something important to being willing to sit in feelings of shame and helplessness. That is actually part of the journey in identifying with the minority. "Triumphalism" of which the majority culture church is often guilty means wanting to move past the bad things without lingering. To merely slap a "Come Lord Jesus" on things as a band-aid, as if we're not in the here-and-not-yet, as if God himself doesn't weep and mourn and lament and understand what it means to be truly ashamed and helpless. Cry out "How Long, O Lord?" like the Psalmists did. Please don't jump past the grief, the wrestling, the muck and mire of the weight of what sinful people can do to each other because of what we think about each other. I know it sounds terrifying, but trust that if God leads you in sinking down into the grief, he will meet you at the bottom, where he has condescended to dwell with us helpless creatures.

Having said that, finally, let me say that it is true that we who believe in Jesus do not weep as those without hope. We know Jesus will make all things right someday. We know he's at work even now. And the crazy, absurd miracle is that we get to be part of that. We get to fight to see the imago dei in each person as we have our eyes recalibrated to see as Jesus sees. We get to do the good work of reconciliation between humans because God has done the great work of reconciliation between humanity and himself.

So here are some ideas to move past shame. Some ideas for little next steps that just might a big difference. And please, have grace for yourself, friends. You will mess up. We all do. You will say awkward things and hurt people. I think it's better to do that in good faith, and to learn, and grow, then to say nothing at all. Find friends who can help you understand. Other bridge builders. Minorities who aren't so exhausted just by existing in a majority culture that they can't explain things kindly and patiently (and over and over again). Let humility and grace guide you, not thinking about what you think is "right" or about your "rights." Believe that God is big enough to guard the truth in your heart. Remember that it's not about our rights, it's about the rights that Jesus laid down for us, so that we could be made right with him and each other. We're all in need of repentance and we're all in need of renewal. Praise God that he's willing to help us walk through both.

Don't traffic in stereotypes, but you can find good ones (or generalizations about what is hurtful/helpful) and learn more about where they come from. Find people who defy those stereotypes from all walks of life, and learn more about their stories. And you can also apply this to Native Americans, to women, to whatever minority it is that God is drawing you toward.

So here are the tweets, with a little more explanation in parenthesis. Some of the explanations are long. Yeah, there's a reason that tweets are limited to 140 characters...


Idea to move past shame: say thanks to black folks in service professions, w/ respect like for white servers. See sacrifice & imago dei.
(Sometimes we have to work harder to be nice to people who aren't like us. It's a fact of life. If you aren't kind to any folks who bring your food, take your trash, and watch your kids, then that's another discussion!)


Idea to move past shame: listen to black musicians-not w/cultural appropriation but w/joy, as w/ white musicians. See gifts & imago dei.

(I was raised on Motown. It's hard not to appreciate and understand some of the issues that a culture experiences when you're listening to music being made by folks in that culture.)


Idea to move past shame: admire black sisters--fab. hair texture (DON'T PET), leadership, etc. as w/ white women. See beauty & imago dei.

(But seriously. DO. NOT. PET.)


Idea to move past shame: sit next to a black person in a drs' waiting room. Don't assume he/she wants to mug you. See needs & imago dei.

(Okay. This one caused some controversy on FB. Yes, I truly apologize for the snark. Perhaps what would have been better would have been to say, "Prove that you don't assume he/she wants to mug you. Break stereotypes on both sides.")


Idea to move past shame: cheer black folks & don't act surprised at successes--celebrate like w/ white folks. See contributions & imago dei.

(It's the "don't act surprised" that keeps this from becoming a microaggression--from becoming awkward and hurtful. What's surprising is when a person of color defeats all kinda crazy odds to get the recognition that his or her accomplishments deserve. But it is not surprising that a POC is actually smart, or talented in something other than sports, or is articulate, or funny, or hardworking. That's God's work in each of us, and we should be looking for it in others.)


Idea to move past shame: buy black art. Explore diff. textures, colors, styles. Display like you would white art. See beauty & imago dei.

(Again, not as cultural appropriation, but as fair representation. There are some amazing black artists out there, who just don't get as much exposure/don't have as great a network as do their majority culture peers.)


Idea to move past shame: find black leaders to place yourself under. Respect/serve as you would white leaders. See strength & imago dei.

(Anybody remember the #DearWhitePastor hashtag from awhile back? POC sharing what they wish white head pastors would know/do? This was my response. Don't just hire a token black person on your staff. Find a way to make them a leader. Maybe even the new head pastor...)


Idea to move past shame: give black dolls/action figures/books to your kids. Play w/ as you would white toys. See reality & imago dei.

(I was the only kid in small-town New Mexico with an Orange Blossom doll [Strawberry Shortcake's black sidekick]. But it was important that my toys reflected reality--that not everyone is white. What with characters like Doc McStuffins, Tiana [The Frog Prince], and Keena Ford [books], along with a spate of new black superheroes, you don't even have to settle for the sidekick anymore.)


Idea to move past shame: invite black friends to meal, calmly & winsomely. Welcome as you would white friends. See uniqueness & imago dei.

(I said "calmly and winsomely" because there is nothing a minority loves more than being fawned over and lovingly harassed by well-meaning people who are SO FLIPPING EXCITED TO SEE A MINORITY THAT THEY CAN BE FRIENDS WITH and maybe also one of the first minorities they've seen in awhile. So don't make a big deal out of it. See their unique cultural needs, but perhaps more importantly, their unique personal needs. Try to know that specific person and how he or she communicates, what he or she feels welcomed by, etc. Which is different for different people, not even just different types of people. And if you got weird and overly clingy, apologize, and keep trying. I know that's a lot to ask, but it's also a lot to ask of someone else to come with you for a meal when you're obviously crazy. :) I think we're all just hoping we are each other's kind of crazy, and that true, deep friendship can come out of that.)


Idea to move past shame: support black campus ministers. Ask about ministry as you would white campus minister. See passion & imago dei.

(Or black non-profits, if that's more your speed. I'm speaking to a mostly Christian audience here, but the point is to get excited about what a person of color is doing, to find out what they are passionate about and hop on board.)


Idea to move past shame: tell black girl she's beautiful & mean it. Celebrate her value as you would white girl. See mind & imago dei.

(Black girls need to hear they are beautiful, inside and out. Because I'm not even tryna deny that they get fed a lot of lies both from the majority and minority cultures--especially hardcore rap. So would you tell a white girl she looked lovely in a similar situation? Then tell that mocha beauty, too. Would you praise a white girl for her grades? Then please do say something to a sista. Would you complement white parents about the way their daughter acted? Then don't be weird about it, but let the black family know, too.)


Idea to move past shame: sit next to black colleagues; showcase ideas. Partner with as you would white colleagues. See talents & imago dei.

(It really is good stewardship when you, as a majority culture person, have the listening ear of colleagues and can point out other coworkers who might get lost in the shuffle. It really is a work of the Holy Spirit to foster humility for us to be able to intentionally partner with folks who may not get the attention or resources we might have. Don't feel guilty that you got that promotion. Use it to raise up other leaders. Don't feel ashamed that you had better educational opportunities growing up. Utilize your higher income to make a difference in a child's life. Grieve the uneven playing field, repent if you weren't aware it existed, and then do something about it.)


Idea to move past shame: hold door for elderly black folks. Defer as you would for white elderly folks. See wisdom & imago dei.

(I know this is partly cultural, and may seem like a no-brainer, but I have two thoughts: 1) I truly believe we are programmed by society to not see those we value less. So we don't pay attention to the elderly like we should, and we don't respect folks with dark skin like they deserve. 2) It's triply-sad when you factor in that in the South, at least, many elderly black men with grey hair are old enough to have been called "boy" by white children and many elderly black women with grey hair remember a time when the rape of a black woman was rather standard and overlooked. So go out of your way, friends. Show a fellow human being some kindness, where a little will go an especially long way.)


Idea to move past shame: appreciate black history makers. Study as you would white history makers. See valuable contributions & imago dei.

(Our history books are incredibly biased, which is a shame not only for race relations, but just for amazing stories about amazing people which don't get told in the majority culture. Take advantage of Black History Month or new books which feature POC history-makers. Dive in.)


Idea to move past shame: make eye contact with young black man, nod/say hi. Engage as you would young white man. See dreams & imago dei.
(I know this is hard. But chances are, anyone you meet around town is not a "thug," or if they are, they don't really care what you're up to. If it's a majority culture public area in the middle of the day, you're probably safe. Try to remember that they are just tryna get where they're going, too. And you breaking that stereotype--proving you're not afraid or disdainful--could mean a lot to that young black man. Your nod/hello could actually speak to the fact that you believe his life matters. If nothing else, being polite is a reasonable thing to do.)


Idea to move past shame: read black poetry with an open mind. Engage as you would white poetry. See heart cries & imago dei of authors.

(Especially if art isn't your thing, poetry---and this includes rap lyrics--can really open your eyes to another person's perspective. Read this poem. Try some Lecrae lyrics. My go-to is Langston Hughes, every time. Maya Angelou, all day long.)


Idea to move past shame: see little black boy playing & don't shy away in fear. Engage as you would little white boy. See joy & imago dei.
(The little boy in the "Dinosaurs in the Hood" poem above? The one playing with plastic dinosaurs and dreaming big dreams? He exists. And his life matters because he was made in the image of God. And so he is beautiful, even though he may seem older than he really is, or more aggressive because of our cultural lenses. I want to really see him, and to see him thrive.) 

And an idea to move past shame, which I didn't tweet before but probably should have, is to see your own imago dei, and rejoice in how every little move towards Jesus lets your light shine through a little more clearly. Be kind to yourself as you're trying to be kind to others. See your heart transformed by Jesus, the ultimate imager of God.

Moving past shame,
A Fellow Image-Bearer.


Friday, July 15, 2016

To Those Lives Who are Bruised (Black and Blue)

NOTE: I've updated this to include Officer Jackson. I hate that. I hate that our world is so broken. Any loss of life, of any kind, any where, is not how it should be. Come, Lord Jesus. We need you desperately.


Dear Black and Blue Lives,

Let me emphasize that I see the significance of the word play there. As a unique segment of the population, black police officers are caught in the middle--in the cross-fire, if you will. You are black and blue, bruised and beaten. You are exhausted, both by your actual police work and with all the social implications surrounding that work.

I want to see you, faithful officers. I want to see, and respect, and honor you and your families. I want to lament with you, and try to understand the difficult space you inhabit as you are all-too-often forced to choose whose side you are on. I want to be on your side--because you are made in the image of God--even when I may disagree with your social media statements or be confused by your actions. I want you to know that I'm grateful. That I want to learn more about the dangers you face and the sacrifices you make.

To the "Salty Dad/Sharp young Black Officer" whose thoughts I read on Facebook, I want to say thank you for your service, and for sharing. I agree that we are in a "sad state of affairs" as humans. Your own experience with the violence in your childhood showcases that. I am so sorry that you had to grow up surrounded by fear. I am so sorry that you have had to see so many young black men die at the hands of other young black men in your work as a police officer. I cannot imagine what it is like to so vividly know the "unforgettable smell of deoxygenated dark red blood in the air" and to feel so helpless and weary. I wish more people on both sides would read your post and hear how "heartbreak weighs [you] down, rage flows through [your] veins, and tears fill [your] eyes." I am not going to argue about the statistics you've presented, because the irony is that the supposedly indisputable facts presented on all sides don't really change anything. The facts I want to take in are that you are tired, and scared, and unappreciated, and vilified by people from all positions. The facts that are, to me, indisputable, are that you risk your life daily and you feel like it's maybe all for nothing. I don't want to let the black-on-black crime narrative or the police brutality narrative drown out your story. It seems we disagree somewhat on what the problem is, and perhaps even moreso on what the solutions should be, but your Black and Blue Life Matters, no matter what anyone says, and no matter what mistakes you do or don't make, and I am grateful for you.

To Officer Liquori Tate, of Hattiesburg, MS, I want to say, thank you for your faithful and short-lived service. I mourn your death. I weep with your family at your loss. You paid the ultimate price, and there is no way to repay or even fully vindicate that, but you are remembered, by black lives and blue lives alike. Your life mattered. And not even because you fought hard to escape stereotypes and societal expectations of young black men. Not even because you were a good officer, described by fellow officers as having an "infectious joy", or because you were an upstanding citizen, or because you were a hero to your family and community. No--your Black and Blue Life Mattered (and still does) because you were made in the image of a holy God, and worthy of dignity and respect. A violent act took away your life, but it couldn't take away your value as a human being. I am grateful for you.

To Officer Montrell Jackson, of Baton Rouge, LA, I want to say, thank you for your willingness to serve, even when you felt like your city maybe didn't love you. Thank you for your ultimate sacrifice, which feels so pointless but must not be. We cannot let your death mean nothing. Your wife and baby boy cannot have lost you for nothing. Your sacrifice (and theirs) must be remembered. Your son will grow up without his father, but I pray, and hope, and cry out to the Lord that he will grow up in a city that loves him, values him, neither fears nor targets him. Your wife is now a single black mother, and I pray, and hope, and cry out to the Lord that she won't be judged or regarded with suspicion and contempt. Just as the legacy of the men and women of Mother Emmanuel who lost their lives ultimately ended up being the SC flag coming down, may your legacy be that change comes, and hearts are broken and healed anew, that a little more shalom comes on earth as it is in heaven. Your sister got the news while she was in church, and "didn't want to break down in church"--but perhaps that is the problem. We in the church don't allow for this pain--to weep, lament, and cry as the Psalmist and others did. We need to break down over your death, Officer Jackson, as well as the other officers, and Baton Rouge's citizens. We need to being willing to give everything--as you did--even if "everything" just looks like our comfort and our desire for easy solutions. Thank you for so bravely and graciously existing in the difficult middle ground. Your Black and Blue Life Mattered (and still does). I am grateful for you.

To Dallas Police Chief David Brown, I want to say thank you for your service and vulnerability. I cannot imagine the grief and shame you went through when your son's mental illness drove him to shoot both a police officer and a civilian. I can only imagine the frustration and despair you are feeling as all the work your department has done to decrease both crime and excessive force complaints was undermined by the heinous crime of a person who lost his value for all life. I may disagree that Black Lives Matter folks leaving the protest lines to join the police is a comprehensive solution, but your point is well-made that you are working hard to remove the need for protests. Your comment that you've "been black a long time, so [the bridge between police and black communities is] not much of a bridge" for you made me both laugh and sigh. What an exhausting place to be in--to be both and neither. To be constantly having to defend yourself as a black man, even as you have to defend yourself as a police officer. As a multi-ethnic woman, I have just a small idea of what that's like, and I'm sorry that you are caught in the middle and expected to always be a bridge-builder. I see you, sir, and I see your bravery, and determination, and heart. I don't want to let--I refuse to let--(necessary) discussions about gun-control and peaceful protests and mental illness completely blind me to seeing you, to saying that your Black and Blue Life Matters. I am grateful for you.

To Officer Nakia Jones, I want to say, thank you for your service and your passion. Thank you for being the Other three times over, a "double-minority," as a a black police woman. I hear your heart's cry, and I weep with you. I weep with you for the things you've experienced, and I rejoice for the barriers you've broken down. I hear your hurts. I love your delight in "wearing the blue" and I applaud your strong words calling for racist white officers to take that uniform off. And though I might say that it's not just white officers who are believing lies about the value of black lives, and thus we can't just remove all the racist white officers and expect everything to be fixed, I heard so much nuance in your speech. What a joy to hear you call both sides to task and ask for change from all communities involved. There are no simple answers, and as a working mom, you get that. I think of your children, and I hear them in the background, and I think of how much you sacrifice and juggle to be able to put on that uniform each day. And I am overwhelmed with your wisdom and strength. Your beautiful Black and Blue Life Matters. It matters to your family, and your community, and people like me that you'll probably never meet. I am grateful for you.

To bruised and battered Black and Blue lives all over the country (and world), I want to say, thank you. May God grant you peace, and safety, and a strong community in which to serve faithfully. May God heal the ways that lies may have crept into your own minds about the value of black lives and even your own lives. May God comfort you and your families in these uniquely heartbreaking times as well as in the daily exhaustion that comes with police work. I repent of the ways I've either forgotten about you or stereotyped you. Please forgive me for how I've bought into the us vs. them, black folks vs. police mentality. Thank you for standing in the gap. Thank you for your willingness to serve, to wrestle with complex issues, for your very lives. Wonderful, precious Black and Blue Lives that Matter because they matter to God.

With respect and gratitude,
A Fellow Citizen